A brown vehicle, surprisingly tasteful in its wildly gothic external decor, stops at a light. Amid the various brownish skulls and headstones adorning the SUV-ish car, I spot a sign saying “Thank You For Your Patience During Our Remodel,” and the active rear window wiper has been fashioned into a waving hand. Inspired by two comely girls waiting on the corner, the driver rolls down his passenger window, and out blares “Break on Through” by The Doors. Accompanying the song is a lip-synching monkey puppet, singing to the girls, who squeal and delight in this spontaneity.
This is an example of shit that happens in Portland every day, and why I adore it.